


Don't Assume

by doctorfourteen



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Mentor/Protégé
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:33:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9509330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorfourteen/pseuds/doctorfourteen
Summary: Her eyes are dark like steaming hot coffee in the morning, her smile is the warmth of the coffee cup in your hands. He is all things rough, he is the scarred hands with fingertips so hardened by what they have done that they do not bleed anymore. He is the straight razor pressed against flesh, cutting away stubble. She is the freshness of early morning and he is the darkness of late at night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because honestly young Tina Goldstein is so important, mentor/protegee relationships are so important and generally Percival Graves is important.

In the very beginning, she had been eighteen and he was thirty-five. She was a member of MACUSA’s training programme for aurors – she had excelled as a student of Ilvermorny, second in her graduating year and her greatest downfall was her tendency to stall, the result of emotional overthought. He was an auror, already tied to the eminent Graves name. Without choice from birth he had been burdened with great expectation. He rose quickly in status, a well-respected auror and highly capable wizard though it was something he was by no means congratulated for – rather instead, commentary surrounded his deficiencies, in lieu of his successes.

Upon success of her application, she had wished inordinately for no other than Seraphina Picquery to be named as her mentor. Picquery was a powerful woman, an astute witch and held in high regard by Tina. The result of overzealous optimism, she had felt that if ever there would be someone who could mentor someone such as herself, it would be no less than Picquery. The one to lead her to success as an auror would have to be someone firm, yet intuitive with an approachable demeanour and ability to nurture.

To Tina Goldstein, to have Percival Graves assigned as her mentor had been an overwhelming disappointment. The man known for his cold stare and fiercely guarded nature, known in part for his name – a man so different from herself – it had seen impossible to her that she could ever see eye to eye with such a man as Percival Graves.

And at first, the relationship had been tumultuous. She had been resistant to his expectations, to his attitude and to his consistent state of frustration towards her. It had taken weeks, bordering upon months, of retreating to her small apartment shared with his sister in floods of tears, constant trials of her knowledge and ability and mundane tasks such as paperwork, shadowing meetings and overseeing interrogations before she had begun to warm to the man.  He had always seemed so busy with desk work and filing, it was hardly the life of an auror that she had been expecting and so keen to experience and in the few instances that he would take a brief moment away from his work it would be to trial her understanding or awareness. He would chastise the way she held herself in interrogations, the way that she would grimace at the mention of paperwork and the subtle yawns at the very back of the congress hall.

 

“There’s a rumour going around, the moron from your graduating class under Picquery was fired this morning. I thought you’d want to be one of the first to know that it is fact, not rumour.” He said, completing the final stroke of his signature and sliding the paper over to her in the absence of their status quo; her brushing her hand beneath his palm to collect the paper as he completed it, the wand in her alternate hand tapping papers as they neatly fold themselves before stacking them in an order suitable to his style of organisation.

He expected her to speak, as her lips fell apart – but she didn’t. In its place there was a shaky breath. “Seraphina has never been the patient type,” he comments filling the silence, “I think she misses the days where she would chase after hardened criminals, now she just gets stuck with some arrogant kid determined to be the next big name.” Her eyes narrowed slightly in thought for a moment, brows furrowing – surely he could see the backhanded insult to herself as part of his statement, but as she turned her head slightly to face him, it became quickly apparent that he hadn’t.

“Mister Graves, sir. If you’re going to let me go, please don’t draw it out like this.” Her words came out tinier than she had anticipated as hot tears steamed at the very edges of her eyes, forcing herself to hold them back as she attempted to maintain her composure in his presence.

“Goddammit Tina,” he breathed, pushing himself away from his desk firmly dropping the quill onto the pile of papers in the process, the ink spilling for a second before his splayed hand swooped over them, clearing it away. “There’s no subtle dig at you,” he turned his head, eyes fixing on hers before he began rummaging through his drawer for a small cigarette case, lighting it and taking it to his mouth. 

She watched him intently, as though every movement he made was a prolonging of some form of unusually cruel punishment. She’d seen him at work in interrogation and from her perspective, this seemed to be just that. The way he inhaled the smoke deeply, exhaled. Inhaled and exhaled, before hanging it over an ash tray.

“If I was planning to sack you, I’d have done it weeks ago. Do you really think I would bother to invest my time if I didn’t think there was some sort of potential in you?” Another backhanded remark. He was good at those. Her self-pity was caught in its tracks and she felt a small swell of confused pride as he said those words.

“I assumed that –,” she began, but he interrupted.

“Don’t assume. Unless you know – don’t speak.” He took another drag of the cigarette, harshly stubbing it out against the cut glass of the ashtray. His fingers were pressed to the desk again. “If I wanted an opinion, I’d ask someone from the mail department. I want facts and that’s why you’re here.”

Her eyes widened, blinking fervently, the brusque nature of his words providing further ignition in the fire of her tears that threatened to spill at any moment. “You think I’m an asshole,” he comments.

“I never said that—,” she interrupts him, there’s a quick flicker of annoyance crossing his face that eases in seconds.

“Tina, I’m fair, dammit. I’m an asshole, but I’m fair. If I didn’t believe that someday you’d make a good auror, you wouldn’t be here. Any secretary can do what you’re doing,” another insult spilling from his lips. She’s counting them, each time wondering if he notices, although it seems pretty unlikely.  “I’m trying to teach you. The way you hold yourself, the way you conduct yourself – maintain professionalism in everything you do and you’ll be a good auror. You have the capability of a great auror, but you panic. If you’d just open your eyes and see that I’m trying to teach you about patience and method, we’d be making quick progress.” An insult and compliment hashed into one.

He took his jaw in his hand, thumbing at his lips, surveying her face for some sort of response, yet instead she only looked frightened and close to tears. His free hand slipped beneath his coat, to his waistcoat and pulling free a neatly pressed handkerchief, offering it to her. As she blinked in astonishment, the tears fell freely with a blush of embarrassment rushing to her cheeks as she mopped them away, a quiet thank you falling from her, accompanied by a soft sniffling sound.

“I understand.”

“Okay,” he replies, relaxing in his chair again. The corners of his lips turned slightly in what she could only assume was semblance of a smile – she gave a watery smile in return with a nod.

“Okay.”

 

Their routine stabilised after that and their relationship began to shift yet again, they both seemed to grow more and more invested in the partnership. She began to accompany him on field work, assisting in the arrests of criminal wizards and witches at large. Their time spent in his office became less of a complex silence and small snippets of conversation began to break into their daily life.

 

“You understand what you’ve got to do?” Graves asks as they sit on a park bench, he was holding a broadsheet newspaper in his hands. If she had known less, she might have thought that he was invested in what he was reading, yet Graves was exceptional at hiding in plain sight, no mean feat by any length.

She had grown accustomed to finding herself at his side, in his shadow. In fact, his shadow didn’t seem such a frightening place to be anymore, it was a boundary where she was consistently aware that she was being observed and yet it was safe. Graves was a harsh man, but never unduly so and gave credit where credit was due, even if sometimes that credit came disguised in the form of an insult.

“We go to the club and I sit at the table, you order drinks and I make him feel important. I trade the pearls for the emerald – once I’ve got the emerald, I give you the signal and we leave. Someone follows up and arrests him for possession of stolen goods.” She explains.

“And the signal is?”

“Ordering seven shots of giggle water.” He nods.

 “And –?” He enquires, implying a missing element to their subtle plot.

“And?” She repeats after him, is there something she has missed? She watches his expectant face, hoping for a clue to her forgotten tactic.

“I know you have a thing for stories, so tell me their story.” He is allowing her to take the reins, to delve deeper into their characters. The sooner she loses herself in an impersonation, separating Tina from the role, the nerves disappear. She is no longer Tina, the insecure eighteen-year-old, instead she has opportunity to be Belle the confident socialite or Jane, the self-aware young secretary, stealing her boss away from his beautiful wife with her wit and charm.

“He is a stockbroker, she’s his nanny. He has two kids, Sally and…” she trails away, trying to find a suitable name.

“George,” he decides.

“Right, George. Sally and George. His wife drinks, she knows he’s having an affair with the nanny but she’s powerless to stop it. His wife will drink herself to death, throwing herself from the window of their penthouse apartment five years later, but by then he’s already moved on from the nanny to the secretary.”

“Harsh, but fair.” He agrees, leading to another question. “Why in your stories is he an adulterer?”

“Because in the real world, people like him don’t marry people like her.”

“People like me, you mean?” He asks, letting the newspaper slip slightly as he takes his jaw in his hand again. He is testing her.

“People like you don’t marry people like me.” A hint of insecurity weighing on her words.

“Do they not? I wouldn’t know. It is rare for me to find myself a part of society and when I do it is usually a matter of business.”

A small breath passes her lips, her nose scrunches. The idea that any person could be so satisfied with the thought of spending a lifetime alone, to bind themselves so completely to their work that they would never entertain the idea of love coming into it. The thought that love was little more than a distraction. Had he always been so cold?

“Didn’t you ever want to marry, not even as a child?” She asks, foraying into open water without an aid to keep herself afloat.

“You ask too many questions, Tina. Learn to ask only the necessary questions, knowledge is power, but sometimes knowledge can get you killed.” Another wall placed before her abruptly, she wanted to protest, to delve further into his psyche. She wanted to understand who Percival Graves was, but she doubted that was a task many before her had succeeded in. “What’s his name?” He asks, deflecting.

“Tommy. Short for Thomas Johnathan David Seymour the third.”

“Does the name need to be that long?”

“No, that’s why we’re calling him Tommy.” She explains, a smile so innocent that it creased lines only ever seen in happiness or sadness, never age. She is so young and enthusiastic that it is admirable. She’s yet to see so many horrible sights that it crosses his mind would it be fair for him to allow her to become an auror? Not when she’s so sparkly eyed. Her eyes are dark like steaming hot coffee in the morning, her smile is the warmth of the coffee cup in your hands.

He is all things rough, he is the scarred hands with fingertips so hardened by what they have done that they do not bleed anymore. He is the razor pressed against flesh, cutting away stubble. She is the freshness of early morning and he is the darkness of late at night.

“Her name is Daisy.” She decides. “Tommy and Daisy.”

 

The flat of his hand rests on the small of her back, guiding her to the table of the club. His fingers seem to press into her flesh with an authoritative squeeze that both frightens her and excites her. They are not equal, she knows that better than anyone else, but in this job they serve equal purpose, she feels the taste of success at the tip of her tongue, a step closer to qualifying, to being aurors Graves and Goldstein.

Her shoulders are back, her spine is straight as she stands tall, her neck is exposed by her hair, the small dab of perfume assaulting her senses from time to time; a measure that Graves had reassured her to be necessity. She could not play the role of mistress smelling of anything less than money. She had been wrapped in a fur shawl, but that had been banished at the doorway, taken with his jacket to hang in a cloakroom, leaving her feeling even more exposed than she had already, it was as though he sensed her momentary lapse in confidence as there was a sharp but quick squeeze to her hip.

“Tommy, is this your friend?” She asked, drawing an excitable smile to her face as they arrive at the table. Her accent is slightly thicker as she speaks. He seemingly approves, it’s too late to go back now. He presses a kiss to her cheek, the sharp dark stubble of his jaw scratching her skin but she doesn’t resist. He smells of cigarettes and musk, she wonders if he is aware of that. All eyes are seemingly on her as he presents her to the man, but her own stare is diverted to him. She has never seen him so close before, now in plain sight she sees the fine lines showing at the edges of his eyes, the few greying hairs that seem to be growing – she isn’t surprised. She imagines that even at her age, if she could go so many days without proper sleep, functioning on coffee and snappy remarks. Graves seems a softer man up close, but perhaps that is simply because here he is not speaking and from this angle, it isn’t so easy for him to scowl down at her.  

“Sit’own baby,” he tells her in return, a thicker accent that heightens the smile on her face. He is competing with her, a tactic – he knows how she is spurred on by competition of all things. A chance to not only prove herself, but to _win_.

“You never told me you had such handsome friends.” She tells him, she’s purposefully toying with him now, though he only smiles out of satisfaction.

“Why don’t y’ give the man your hand for a kiss an’ I’ll go get us some drinks.”

They have made it so far and now he leaves her alone in the lion’s den, glancing over his shoulder briefly to see her sitting closely to the man he intends to arrest as he peppers her arm with kisses and she giggles gleefully. She is nothing if not talented.

His attention is drawn to the barman, taking a seat as he leaves her to her work.

“Would’ya look at him, always so distracted by friends.” She says, as he feigns conversation with a man at the bar, another auror who is off duty, the whole club is MACUSA’s den and their prey have no idea.

“You happen to be one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.” The man, James Ellis, tells her. “It’s easy to see why Tommy would want to buy such a gift for just another whore.” Her eyes narrow slightly, though she laughs in response, hiding the sudden wave of anxiety.

“You’re too kind, Mister Ellis.” Tina is a plain woman, she has her younger sister Queenie to thank who had painstakingly curled her lashes and twisted her hair into delicate curls, adorned with feathers. Her lips are painted a shocking red, like the women on the posters that she sees plastered across New York city. She looks just like one of those glamorous women in her finery, but tomorrow she will return to her plainly cut trousers and her blouse, a simple pendant hanging from her neck. Queenie is the beautiful one and if it is anything to go by, she is thankful for that. The stares of men in passing, despite Graves’ carefully placed arm around her waist, the effort needed to apply make-up and the stress of the choosing a dress to wear.

“Please, call me James.”

“Mister Ellis will do, don’t’ya think?” She giggles again. “Belongs to his wife,” she says, pulling a string of pearls from her purse. “Tommy says she’s the most hideous of women, getting’ on a little bit now if you understand.” She’s clutching at straws.

“It’s not about the looks --,”

“—Daisy.”

“It’s not about the looks, Daisy. Men want something newer ever now and again, in a few years it’ll be your turn. Bet that’s why you’re here, security an investment for your future.” He grins, his nose wrinkles. He has hideously yellowing teeth.

He presses his hand against her thigh, moving inwards. Graves watches at a distance, his eyes narrow lightly a small flicker of panic crosses Tina’s face, he’s watching intently now as she reconstructs her composure, resting her hand on his as she regains control.

“Investment, yes.” She agrees. Her heart is racing as she glances over the Graves who gives her the subtlest of nods as he sips away at his fire whiskey.

The man, James Ellis smiles, sitting back in the seat. “You’re good, sweetheart. How long has your old man from MACUSA been training you?”

She blinks, trying to hide the terror that floods into her eyes. Her whole body stiffens and her back overarches. She is hesitating, pausing, struggling for words, but instead the thoughts from his case file flash before his eyes, four murders, two assaults, six attempted murders.

“I – I don’t,” she shrinks now, feeling small in front of him. Suddenly she is Tina Goldstein and feels all and none of her eighteen years as the man stands.

“Come on, let me get to know you a little first.” He breathes, sucking in between the teeth exposed by his grin. Get to know here before what? She stoops back against the seat a little, as though millimetres of difference will protect her.

There is a burst of blue before her eyes that stuns her and Graves is at her side, dragging her to her feet by her forearm wordlessly. He gives her a shove towards a wall away from the man, she stumbles lightly, losing her footing. Splayed fingers catch herself, pressed against the floor with a sharp yell, her knees are scraped and the strap of her dress has snapped, the palm of her hand is grazed as she raises it to pull the strap back to cover her modesty.

“Incarcerous!” She hears from somewhere behind, turning to them. She sees the aftermath, the table is turned on its side, surrounded by shattered crystal and spilled liquor wetting the floor as the man, James Ellis, struggles against his bindings at his knees before Graves, who hasn’t broken so much as a sweat.

“Who the hell are you?” The man demands, the man Graves had been speaking to at the bar firmly grasping him by the shoulder, Graves walking away. He stoops to a knee before Tina, she wordlessly presents her hand to him, his own brushing over it as the graze vanishes to nothing. There are tears brimming in her eyes, but she doesn’t complain, she wills herself to maintain the professionalism he holds in such high esteem.

His hand takes the crook of her neck, his thumb resting on her jawline awkwardly. “You’re alright, you did a good job. A few more minutes and you can go home.” She nods in response, stunned to silence.

A flick of his wrist and James Ellis’ briefcase falls open, exposing the contents, the emerald cascading from it. A come-hither motion and the gemstone is in his hand, Graves holds it close to his eye as he examines it. It’s a beautiful stone, a multitude of shades as though every single tree of Central Park is enclosed in it, Tina is fascinated as he observes it carefully, then sliding it in his pocket. She wonders if he has any experience in the appraisal of precious stones, or if he simply does it for effect as he slips it into his pocket.

“Well that wasn’t a complete failure, I suppose.” He comments.


End file.
